


Attitude (altitude and amorous intentions)

by vocative



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocative/pseuds/vocative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smooth, controlled glide can lead to the best landing outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attitude (altitude and amorous intentions)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foxtoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtoast/gifts).



The tricky landing at Gibraltar was textbook; the disembarkation was routine. It was shaping up to be a, well, not boring--flying was rarely boring--but easy charter. Arthur was offloading the cabin bins and Douglas had dashed for the loo almost as soon as the wheel chocks were down. Martin took the opportunity to stretch his legs before they all shared a taxi to the hotel for standby. He was planning how to work in his planned van trips to the next week’s flight schedule when someone hauling down the wrong side of the flightway slammed into him. They both went down with a crash, and Martin’s wheeled satchel barked his shins painfully.

“Nice one!” the other man said as Martin sat back and collected himself. A good look at his face made Martin blanch.

“Alan?”

“Yeah? What’s it to-- Martin?”

They scrambled to their feet, and Alan tried to brush imaginary dust off Martin’s jacket. “I hadn’t heard--I mean, you’re well?”

“Fine.” Martin grabbed Alan's wrists and removed them from his lapels. “No harm here, I’m fine. Goodbye.”

He grabbed the handle of his bag and swung wide around him, but Alan grabbed at his arm. “Wait, I thought you had--”

“Left. Yes. And now I am leaving again. Goodbye Alan.” Martin tried to yank his arm away, but Alan held firm, and tried to drag him towards the wall.

“Leave me the hell alone,” Martin said in a low voice.

“Look, I know I messed up. I’m sorry. We just really need to talk. You left before I could apologize properly.”

Martin fisted the hand on his trapped arm, then snapped it out of Alan’s grip. “I never--”

“Skip! Hey Skip! Wait up!”

Arthur bounded towards them. “This isn’t over,” said Alan. ”I’ll call you.”

“No,” said Martin, crimson with fury. He walked away as quickly as possible, with Arthur skipping in his wake.

“Martin, what was that? Who? I know where. Here! But who was that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.

“But he made you real mad. I can see the red spots you get up the back of your neck, and your temple’s gone all veiny.”

Martin slowed slightly and half turned towards Arthur. “Look Arthur, it’s someone I once knew, but I don’t ever want to see again, alright?”

“Your ex, hey?” Arthur patted Martin’s arm commiseratingly.

“What?” Martin stumbled, then regained his balance. “Why would you think that I’m, that he’s, that it’s--that?”

“Well, he was handsy, though not as bad as Mrs Rothschild when she has the wine from the top cabinet instead of the middle.”

“I--ok. I did not need to know that, but ok. I need you to keep this a secret. Please, Arthur. It’s really important.”

Arthur walked beside him in silence for a short while, as they approached the taxi kiosk. “Ok. I’ll try. You know how I'm pants at secrets, though.”

“All I ask is that you try. Please.”

“Yeah, Skip. Between you and me.”

\--

Douglas met them outside just as the taxi was arriving. The ride to the hotel was quiet, and the sun was just setting as they clambered out and Douglas paid the driver. Martin headed into the cramped lobby and straight for the desk, returning shortly. He handed off Arthur and Douglas’s keys, and said he would see them at dinner. Douglas watched as he headed off to the elevator, shoulders slumped more than the three-hour flight to Gibraltar warranted.

Douglas turned to Arthur. “Ok. What’s happened?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“False statement, Arthur. One, Martin was fine when we landed. Two, now he is not. I repeat: what happened? I know that you know, and I can always tell when you lie.”

“Nothing happened. He just stopped to buy a kebab, and had a bad go of it.”

“A kebab.”

“Yep.”

“In Gibraltar.”

“Yep.”

“One runway, smaller than a beach shack, Gibraltar.”

“A doner kebab, definitely.”

“The same we had on last Thursday in Izmir?”

“It was similar. But different. Not the same kebab, since it’d have gone off by now.”

“I see. Why don’t you just tell me and be done with it?”

“I can’t and I won’t.” Arthur turned and folded his arms. "No use trying. I am keeping the captain's secret."

"Even if I pay you?"

"How much? I mean no. Not this time."

"Ah, well, there's always next time, I suppose." Douglas swung the room key absently, and started towards the elevator. "And I will find out, you know."

"Yep, but not from me. At least not on purpose."

\--

Martin was mostly back to normal when they sat down in the small family restaurant adjacent to the dingy hotel Carolyn had chosen. Only some residual tension in his shoulders betrayed his unhappiness. When Douglas didn't mention anything about his behavior and instead pondered what he would do with his purloined whiskey from the upcoming Burling Day, Martin relaxed. Evidently, Arthur had not yet caved to Douglas. He didn't doubt that Douglas would find out eventually, but he wanted to postpone that inevitability as long as possible.

After dinner, they walked back to their rooms together. Arthur's room was first in the hall, and Martin and Douglas were at the far end, opposite each other. They waited until they heard the click of Arthur's latch, and then continued on. Martin keyed open his door, and before he could close it, Douglas followed him inside and shut the door.

"Douglas, this my room, what are you doing?"

"Forcing my way in. I thought that would be obvious."

“You can't just--” Martin sputtered.

“I just did. You may as well sit down--”

“In my own room. Thank you so much for your permission, First Officer Richardson.”

“Because we need to talk. Arthur is delightful, even--dare I say--brilliant at times, but we both know that he can't keep a secret. Why did you even try?”

Martin exploded. “Well excuse me, Douglas, if I didn't want to give you any more, any more... Ammunition! I have enough problems right now that I don't need you making fucking poofter jokes! Now get out.”

Douglas recovered quickly. “Dammit, who the hell do you think I am? I can't believe you think that I would use something like this against you!”

Martin crossed his arms. “Oh, of course. What personal revelation haven't you ever not taken advantage of since the day I met you?”

Douglas deflated. “Martin...Not this. Never this.”

“Get out.” Martin said quietly. Douglas held his eyes for a moment, then left.

\--

Over the Rub’ al Khali, on the way to Salalah, Martin said, “So Arthur didn’t tell you.”

“No,” said Douglas, keeping his eyes on the expanse of dunes below, “he managed to keep this one under wraps.”

\--

The flight to the Maldives was cargo only. Some of the rich really did have nothing better to do than fly pallets of fruitcake around the globe.  
“Arthur,” Martin called over the intercom, "look out the window. They say you can see dolphins and turtles on the approach.”

“Brilliant, Skip! Thanks!” The intercom clicked off with a lingering buzz.

“I assume that Arthur saw an...encounter?” asked Douglas as he whacked the altimeter with the heel of his hand.

“I have an ex. He was being overly familiar. And yes, before you ask, I did go to flight school, and I did...meet people. People with common interests.”

“I’m glad it was a pleasant experience. Did you want to come in a bit slow for a better view of the islands?”

“Well, we can take 5 knots off and still be just at 1.3 VSO, but no slower. It is a pretty view.”

“And we have the best seats in the house.”

\--

 

After they reached cruising speed outside of Cardiff, Martin cleared his throat. “His name was--is--Alan. He’s a pilot, too. Well, I assume he is a pilot. We were at school together, and he was in uniform when he ran into me...”

“A safe assumption.”

“It didn’t work out.”

“I had taken that fact for granted, I admit.”

“It was...I don’t even know now. Probably never did. How likely do you think it is that we’ll have Pasta Explosion for lunch?”

“The hope of never seeing it again has inspired me to new heights of religious fervor.”

“Amen.”

\--

“So your problems with women...?” Douglas leads, over Latvia.

“Well men obviously weren't working out.”

“Tell me about it,” Douglas agreed.

“Have you been seeing anyone? You know, now that she...well, now.”

“I am through with marriage. My lot in life is to be myself. No more trophy wives, or wives that need trophies for husbands.”

“Sensible.”

\--

“Martin, are you coming?” Douglas rapped again on the hotel room door. There was a click, and the door opened slightly.

“Come in. I’m almost ready.”

Douglas walked into the room and pushed the door closed. “How sweet of you to freshen your makeup before dinner.”

Martin stuck his head back out of the bathroom. He was fully dressed already, and scrubbing his damp hair vigorously with a towel. “I still don’t understand how he managed to spill yogurt down the back of my shirt. I swear he aimed.”

“Never attribute to malice...”

“What can be blamed on Arthur, yeah.” Martin gave his head a quick shake and draped the towel over the chair back. He raked his fingers roughly through his hair then grabbed a small black comb. After a few desultory swipes, he gave up. “Ready. Where to tonight? Bishop?”

“Hmm, I’m thinking knight.”

“Which way, though?”

“Closest restaurant we can find to two blocks west and one south.”

\--

Martin was finishing up the last of his pilaf as he asked, “You have the landing in Toronto, right?"

“Oh, Martin. I’m disappointed.”

“What? Oh damn. What cheese do I lose this time?”

“Brie.”

“Tosser.”

“You know the rules--only one flight reference per dinner.”

\--

 

Their dinners together have become a habit now, and Arthur has taken to eating in the hotel. He has apparently decided that he wants to have a cheese sandwich, or as close as he can find, from every hotel restaurant possible. Nether Martin nor Douglas want to know his motivation for that decision.

\--

Douglas scrapes some extra breading off his fish, and glares at it thoughtfully. The fish and chips are always overfried at this restaurant, but Martin likes the atmosphere, and its location not too far from his flat. “I hope the stabilizer is fixed by tomorrow.” He decides to add more vinegar in hopes of restoring some of the flavor to the fish. Poor cod. “I don’t want to have to wait for them to tighten it back down again.”

“Douglas.”

“Yes?”

Martin smiles smugly. “I think I shall enjoy the Gouda.”

“The Gouda? I didn’t--I...did.” The corner of Douglas’ mouth turns up slightly. “Fair and square, Martin.”

After they finish dinner, they wander out into the warm late summer evening. Martin turns his face into the slight breeze and it ruffles his ginger hair. “Favorite time of year,” he says with a contented smile.

“Martin.”

Martin turns to face him, inquisitive.

“I think... I think that I should very much like to kiss you.”

Martin’s face scrunches up in a mixture of shock and confusion that Douglas despairs of ever not finding endearing. “Excuse me?”

It had slipped out, but he won’t take it back now. Douglas inspects the displays in the shop window over Martin’s shoulder.

“I...um. You--what?”  
“You heard me.” Douglas fishes in his pocket for his keys and takes a few steps towards the curb.

Martin stays still, but Douglas can feel his eyes boring into the back of his head. He glances to the right and left and crosses the street. As he unlocks the car and opens the door, he sees Martin finally unfreeze and come jogging over to the car. They both climb in silently. At the first stoplight, Martin stares down at his hands and says, “Are you taking the piss?”

Douglas reaches over and touches the back of his hand until Martin looks up at him. “Not this time.”

The car behind them honks in impatience, and Douglas clears the green light.

“Good.” Martin’s voice cracks. He clears his throat. “Good.”

 

\--

“Daves of Britain,” Martin announces after ATC gives them approach instructions.

“Bowie.”

“I don't know. Do Davids count or only Daves?”

They have to circle once more, but the landing is fine, and they are still discussing Daves as they head toward the hotel.

Arthur beats them into the lobby and has a cheerful, meandering conversation with the clerk. As he stops in front of the pillar where Martin and Douglas are leaning, he says, “Skip, I think there's been a problem.”

“What now?” says Martin. “What’s gone wrong? We do have rooms, right?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of? There's only one hotel room for you. I mean you and you. Douglas.” He nods and smiles nervously.

“Yes,” said Douglas. “I had gathered as I was the only other ‘you’ present. And yes. I know about the room.”

“But mum didn't say you had to share this time.”

“No, shockingly she didn’t,” said Douglas.

“But Skipper, aren't you going to yell? You're supposed to yell now.”

“Arthur, I know about the room too. It's on purpose.”

“Oh ok Skip, I get it.”

“Good,” said Martin. “we’ll see you at dinner. Or are you still sampling cheese sandwiches of the world?”

“All done. I liked Spain the best! Toasty and brilliant! Wait. I don't actually. Understand, I mean.”

“We’re um...”

Douglas takes in Arthur’s confusion, and Martin’s wordless appeal for help. He grabs Martin at the shoulder and waist, dips him, then kisses him gently on lips. Martin’s eyes close reflexively, and he blushes tomato red, but he kisses back.

“Brilliant!” yells Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> I am neither a pilot nor an airplane, and google was my flight instructor for this short trip. Thank you for choosing MJN!


End file.
